Counting the Stars
by Merrin
Summary: A Spike moment, with a small Tara encounter.


**Title:**

Counting the Stars

**Author:**

Merrin

**Disclaimer:**

All characters and settings are the property of Joss Whedon. The 'star' quote is from 'Little Essays' (1920), by George Santayana. 

**Note:**

A Tara and Spike moment. Very fleeting. I was just wistful for more time for these two characters to interact. It can't happen on the show, so..This occurs somewhere after 'As You Were' (post-Buffy/Spike break-up) and before Willow/Tara reconciliation.****

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He wanders through the stacks but does not take the books off the shelves. The high ceilings create a cavern's echo. And there is the smell of books, and the quiet dim corners. The librarian has seen him before. Remembers him because he looks so out of place. Not tall. Dressed all in black. Pale. Bleach-blond hair. A slouch. An arrogant stride. What does he come here for? He doesn't seem to read or study. Just sits in a soft chair in a secluded section of the stacks. Leaning back, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tonight, she watches him, from a distance. He is so still, she wonders if he is alive. Then he startles her by taking a long, deep breath. 10 o'clock. Closing time. She approaches, suddenly reticent to speak. She feels a foreboding, a fear of something she can't name. The closer she gets to him, the stronger the dread. Can't speak. But he notices her hesitant presence, seems to read her thoughts and stands up to leave. His eyes meet hers. She notices they are a glowing blue. Beautiful, really. He nods politely. Turns and takes the stairs to the first floor. 

As he ambles out the front entrance of the library and across the campus mall, he reaches behind him and pulls a stolen book out of the waistband of his jeans. Doesn't care what the title is, what dead man wrote it. He likes the smell of it. The feel of the worn embossing on the cover. The soft edges of the pages. It's an old book. And he likes some of the words: 

"If we could count the stars, we should not weep before them."

Spike remembers studying the stars. A long time ago. Looking for the right word. Glitter, shine, scintillate, coruscate. It had to be just right. Desire, passion, lust, obsession. Longing. What was it he had longed for? Something to touch him. To touch his soul. Spike had to laugh at that. Dru had touched his soul. Had held it in her tiny, blood-stained hands, the night she sired him. Bloody amusing, that. He looks at the stars again. They are just distant cold lights. Nothing more. 

**----------**

Tara is at a chamber music concert. It's something she does alone. When she first came to university, she had no friends, so she went to the concerts alone. Now that she has broken up with Willow, she goes alone.

Tara is not capable of mind-to-mind communication like powerful Willow. But she possesses a sensitivity to the emotions of those around her she suspects she inherited from her mother. Her mother would never speak of it. Tara believes it is what killed her. The thoughts of her husband, Tara's father, and his whole extended family. They were poison. Poison that became a deadly disease. Poison, also, for Tara. It's why she left. 

It is the last piece on the program. Tara is sitting by an open window. Closing her eyes, sensing the people around her. Someone is sleeping. Someone is worried about a term paper that's due tomorrow (all-nighter). Someone is despairing...

It is spring, warm. The windows in the small recital hall are open. At first, he thinks it is a voice speaking. Then he realizes it is a musical instrument. A cello, unaccompanied. Spike doesn't know the name of the piece, doesn't know who composed it. But he walks closer to stand outside the window and listens. He feels the music reaching out towards him, trying to find a place inside of him to hold onto. 

The music is serene, civilized. Dim memories of evening soirees. Bare-shouldered women who glide by. He smiles at them, but they look past him and smile at others. They are ghosts. Or he is one. 

He remembers one woman in particular. A lifetime ago. A lovely soft curve outlined her cheek, her shoulder. It was only when he looked into her eyes that he saw hardness. But if he could just touch her softness, her cheek, her bare arm...

The music changes. The tones coming from the instrument stretch from very high to very low. At times it seems the music sings of ecstasy, then immediately plunges into despair. As if there is no way for the musician to find peace.

Another woman. He remembers every curve of softness, every straight line of hardness on her body. Her strong little body. At times she held him so fiercely, he thought she might kill him. He would willingly die in that embrace. It would be right for them; for the vampire slayer to kill the vampire with her passion.

Instead, she let him live. Let him live as a benefit of her indifference.

Maybe he remembers. He looks up at the stars again. Searching for the right word. For something to grasp. Or they reach toward him. There is so much space. 

The music continues as Tara glides down a side aisle, then out the front entrance. As she turns the corner of the building, she sees a figure, all in black, facing away from her. She recognizes him, but doesn't name him in her thoughts. He feels familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She hears a name spoken, inside her mind.

"William?" she says softly, as she approaches Spike.

He is startled, his vampire senses failing him this time. He stares at her. Feels a pressure in his chest. A distant memory of the death of his human heart, constricting as it pumped out the last drop of his living blood.

He smiles. At first, it is a companionable smile. Warm. Then it changes. She wonders if his smirk is for her, her clumsiness at calling him 'William'. Or if it is for himself. A bitter acknowledgement of how much he doesn't belong here, listening to the music.

"Evening, pet. Best watch yourself. You never know what kind of nasties you might meet. Out here. Alone."

With that he walks past her. She turns. Watches him walk away; watches him reach for a cigarette and his lighter. She watches the lit ember burning on the end of the cigarette become a distant, tiny light.

END


End file.
